


Vishanka

by Vishanka



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Death Knight, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-21 18:54:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30026307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vishanka/pseuds/Vishanka
Summary: Personal Backstory of my Nightborne OC Vishanka.
Relationships: Female Nightborne/Male Orc(s) (Warcraft)
Kudos: 3





	1. Rescue from Felsoul Hold

I hardly remember my life before I was taken to Felsoul Hold.  
The catacombs in which we were held were deep underground and, judging from the architecture, once served as a ley station from a bygone era. This place had long since lost its original purpose and now the walls were covered with cages of the Burning Legion, in which we endured until our time had come. Water kept dripping from the ceiling and in the freezing cold of this underground dungeon there was no protection nor solace to be found.

Demonic overseers would often cause psychological agony before ultimately leading us away, never to be seen again. We knew this was a death sentence. The empty spaces were regularly filled with new prisoners, outcasts from Suramar, most of them withered before they could be used to fuel the Burning Legion arsenal. A gracious fate to go insane and not witness your own end.

Days and nights were a tireless fight against the endless hunger that tormented me and drove me to the edge of madness. I was almost blunted to the suffering of my fellow prisoners around me, who tried to cling to any spark of hope. Until they gave up on themselves they often cried, some were overcome by despair and they screamed their hearts out. No one would come to save them. Their will to live would be broken here, and if the fear and agony alone were not enough, the hunger would ultimately tear them apart.

I knew that my time would soon come. The hunger barely made me think clearly and all I could do was lie on the floor of my prison cell and await my fate.  
My body and mind famished, tired and freezing, I examined my hands in the gloomy dim. How much I must have changed, I thought, flexing my bony fingers. My once shiny tattoos had faded and looked like burn marks on my arms and hands.  
It seemed ages ago that I had attended the magical school in Suramar. My parents from the noble house of Daerwain, respected and influential. Arcwine and arcane magic, music and art, all seemed like memories from someone else's life. If I got out of here one way or another, I knew I would never use arcane magic again. The dependency and withdrawal were so terribly all-encompassing that it is a mystery to me how all my people could agree to this curse.

Screams and noise of battle penetrated me and I would have liked to get up to see what was going on - but it was a long time since my legs had found the strength to carry me.  
Some in the other cages around me began to whisper and a few got up to lurk curiously and hopefully through the bars. Hope, a concept that seemed so foreign to me through my clouded thoughts.  
Gradually the turmoil subsided and steps could be heard coming down the stairs to our dungeon. With a great effort, I turned on the floor and in the dimness I recognized silouettes giving each other harsh instructions. Were they here to rescue us? Or to kill us? The distinction now seemed banal.

As you approached, you appeared to be enclosed by an unnatural cold that chilled the moist air around you. The water dripping from the ceiling froze in your presence as life itself seemed to avoid you. Your skin, exposed under your heavy armor, was pale green, and your eyes radiated a shimmering blue in which death rested as if frozen in time.  
You looked like a demon to me, but the unnatural aura that surrounded you belied that impression.

When you broke the lock on my cage with sheer force and picked me up to take me away from this terrible place, you looked down at me for a second.  
What a hideous sight I must have made. My fingers, bony and parched; my face disfigured, my ribcage, clearly visible under my skin; witnesses of suffering.

You climbed the stairs with me, through the ornate corridors, now corrupted by the devices of the Burning Legion and dead bodies that beared witness to a recent battle.  
Around us, your comrades, who led those who could still walk outside, and carried others who were drained like me. As you stepped through the last gate, I sensed a gentle breeze of freedom that the wind waved over me.

I dared a look at the sky I hadn't seen in a long time and took a careful breath of relief. Your eyes shone as bright as the stars above and seemed just as distant; a spark of hope that had died out in me, reignited.  
Light, that has traveled far beyond time and whose origin has long since ceased to exist.


	2. Arrival at Shal'aran

You took us to the ruins of Meredil.  
When I saw the narrow crack in the cliff that led down into deep darkness, I felt the innards in my stomach cramp in recognition. The walls seemed to belong to another abandoned ley station, and I inevitably wondered whether you had come to take us to our last stop.  
But when we turned the last bend, the chamber was bathed in calm light and some of my kin rushed towards us.

I wouldn't even have dared to dream. Here, far from the gaze of Elisande's followers and the Burning Legion, there was shelter, a refuge for those who were no longer welcome in the city. In the center of this enchanted place our hope rested.  
It was a kind of magical tree, and just the sight of it and the soft light it emitted helped me to calm my tortured mind and make my hunger more bearable.

First Arcanist Thalyssra was the driving force behind this group that opposed the Suramar regiment. They tried to breathe new life into the tree, hoping to be able to use it as a future source of magic for us to relieve us of our hunger.  
Many others had found refuge there before me, and the addiction had taken its toll on them as well. We avoided bringing mirrors down here since no one wanted to witness this strange, distorted version of themselves; looking at the others disfigured faces was disturbing enough.  
We barely could keep ourselves alive by extracting mana from crystals brought to us by races of shapes and forms I had never seen before. Some of them just looked ridiculous, but since they were helping us I kept my ridicule to myself. We enjoyed a warm welcome and a lot of compassion and I was especially happy to meet some of my former acquaintances.

You, on the other hand, seemed to be shunned even by your own kin. Tirelessly and without a break you went in and out, carrying out tasks for Thalyssra and ensuring a constant supply of mana crystals. You didn't give me an opportunity to thank you for quite a while, but one evening when you returned I decided to intercept you.  
You didn't seem quite happy that I was stopping you, even angry, actually. When you spoke, the same impression echoed in your voice that your appearance brought with it; terminal frost and an unbreakable determination made my skin crawl in a most peculiar manner.  
You advised me to stay away from you, that just because you saved me we had nothing in common or ever would have.

I asked you, when Suramar was redeemed, whether I could help fight for your people afterwards. You brushed me off and laughed, saying _your people_ was just a meaningless term for you and you were bound to a new master that I should better stay away from as well.

Little did you know that your dismissive reticence only made me more curious.


	3. Home Sweet Home

Gradually more and more refugees and expellees from Suramar joined our cause.  
Although not entirely unexpected, I was a little disappointed that my parents weren't among them.  
The Daerwain family belonged to the upper class and were loyal supporters of Elisande. We had never suffered from the scarcity of Arcwine and until my exile I had not foreseen the consequences of the withdrawal.  
I lived a privileged life. The days consisted of celebrations and participation in events. An extensive training in the different magical schools, martial arts and a very noble combination, the spell fencing, was mandatory for every offspring of a sophisticated family.  
Spell fencing duels served not only for excelling in combat but also for entertainment and contributed to the reputation of the families. It was a shame on the house to lose.

Here, in Shal'aran, we also managed to breath in some home and comfort.  
Refugees, who used to serve as attendants of the upper class, seemed almost happy to return to something familiar, a piece of order that they decided to cling to.  
In addition to essential things such as spices, clothing and furniture, we even managed to provide various diversion. We had musical instruments such as harps smuggled out of Suramar that for the artists among us were a possibility to live up to their original calling.

I had never had an artistic talent and it would not have been part of my responsibility anyway.  
Instead I was delighted with the exquisite selection of folios and grimoires that enriched our halls.  
Our tree, the Arcan'dor, grew bigger and brighter with each passing day, and we used our time to prepare for an inevitable rebellion to liberate Suramar.  
We honed our skills mainly in fighting with weapons. Even if others had no concerns with continuing to use arcane magic, they were very reluctant not to endanger their unsteady condition.

I continued to hold on to not using this form of magic at all and wanted to train into another craft that was ubiquitous, but hardly used in combat anymore: Rune magic.  
In fact, you gave me this idea. Your weapon was engraved with runes, even if I had never seen specifically those shapes before.  
I wanted to ask you about them, but you right off ignored my presence and I was outraged of your impertinent behaviour.  
But, possibly a little out of defiance, I had thought of ways and means to get to the bottom of the origin of your runes and copied them onto parchment the next time you entered our halls.  
You didn't miss my intention, and this time you didn't ignore me. Disgruntled you stepped over to me and ordered my script to be handed over.  
Bold, but preposterous to try to give me orders. Your determined tone and menacing manner challenged me, yet I kept my dignity and had my loyal servants dismiss you.  
You seemed a little undecided after my rejection but let me get away with it for now.


End file.
